


i'm not waiting, but i'm willing

by rosesau



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kid Fic, Light Angst, M/M, sorta? kids and the concept of kids play a huge role in the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:53:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22075768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosesau/pseuds/rosesau
Summary: Louis isn’t a homewrecker. His mother didn’t raise him to break up someone else’s marriage — or even hope for such a thing. Harry isn’t Louis’. He hasn’t been for many years now. And couples argue. They fight. They have their highs and lows. Just because Ryan and Harry seem to be at a low, it doesn’t mean that their relationship will ultimately come to an end. And if it does, Louis doesn’t want to be the reason for it. Sometimes, if he thinks about Harry with Ryan for too long, it makes his stomach do something unpleasant, but still. He isn’t the kind of person to break up a relationship.So Louis doesn’t let himself hope.But that doesn’t mean he never wants it.or the three conversations where harry is married to someone else and the one where he's married to louis
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 34
Kudos: 484





	i'm not waiting, but i'm willing

**Author's Note:**

> hello, happy 2020!
> 
> i've written this story mostly for myself and my pal, rafa, so please excuse the fact that it's very short and maybe not my best work. i'm trying a new thing, and i don't typically write anything so dialogue heavy, so pls go easy on me and pretend to like it even if u dont think it's great. rather than turn this into a 100k monster that it has the potential to be, i decided to show you snapshots of the story and the relationship instead.
> 
> have fun, be nice be kind !

It’s Harry’s birthday. 

It’s the thought Louis has been having all day long. It’s the thought he fell asleep with, his phone in his hand as he lay awake wondering whether or not to send a text he knew he would inevitably send during the day. He fell asleep like that — phone on his chest, his iMessage conversation with Harry opened on the screen. Now it’s a little past four in the evening and he’s sitting in front of the telly, wondering why Harry hasn’t responded to the text he sent a few hours ago. Louis made sure to clear his schedule for this day ages ago because he knew he’d have to go to Harry’s place for lunch or tea or something, because that’s what happens now. Every year, Ryan invites a few family and friends over to their place and that’s what they do for Harry’s birthday. So, naturally, Louis’ went ahead and cleared his day months ago — only to not receive an invite this year. 

And now Harry hasn’t answered his text, even though Louis sent it well before noon. 

It’s not like him to ignore Louis’ texts often, especially on days like today, so Louis wonders. He doesn’t text again because what if Harry’s busy with Ryan? What if they’ve got something special planned together for today and that’s why there wasn’t an invitation for anything? Twenty nine isn’t a particularly exciting or standout age, but that doesn’t really matter, does it? Regardless of the number, it _should_ be a special day for Harry. So Louis tries to push away all thoughts of Harry and his husband and goes into his office. He might as well get some work done if he’s doing nothing else. They holidays are far past over and Louis’ work hat is back on — not like he get loads of holiday time, anyway. If he’s got a court date, then, well, that’s how it is. But it’s nice to be able to do a lot of his work from home. It’s a nice change from sitting at the office and pouring over case after case for hours on end every day. 

He’s back on the sofa and only a few pages into marking the second file when his phone buzzes. He picks it up without thinking and, yeah, it’s Harry. 

_Thanks, Lou,_ he’s written. He’s tacked on a sunflower and yellow heart emoji, too. Louis can’t help but smile and he’s about to type out a response, but then he sees the three little dots pop up and he hesitates. Harry keeps typing and then he stops. Louis waits for the text to come through, but it doesn’t. A moment later the dots appear and disappear again. Louis frowns. He’s about to ask Harry if everything’s okay when he gets: _Do you mind if I come over to yours?_

That certainly isn’t what Louis was expecting. Why would Harry want to spend the evening with Louis instead of Ryan? But rather than asking that, he simply sends back: _Yeah. I’ll leave the front door open._

He gets up from his spot and doesn’t even have the time to stretch his arms over his head before his phone buzzes again. 

**Harry:** _I’m sort of already here?_

Louis frowns, a bit worried now. Why is Harry here? Everything about this day so far has been odd, but this might take the cake. He doesn’t spend too long pondering, though. After sticking his pen and highlighter in the file so as not to lose his place in the document, Louis makes his way to the front entrance of his house. He opens the door and there Harry is, all pink cheeks and puffy eyes, a small bag in one hand. Louis lets him in without a word, even though his mind is whirring with questions. Why does Harry look like he’s been crying? Why is he here? Where is Ryan? Why is he only wearing a T-shirt and a cardigan even though it’s bloody freezing outside? 

He lets Harry lead the way into the sitting room, lets Harry put down the bag on the coffee table, watches Harry sit down on the sofa and stare at the small piles of documents in front of him. “Can I take a nap?” Harry asks without looking up towards Louis. 

It’s an odd question, but Louis doesn’t think he should really demand clarification right now. Maybe later. So he says, “Yeah, alright. Do you wanna take the guest room?” 

“No, here’s fine. Please.” 

He’s still not looking at Louis. Alright, then. “I’ll get you a blanket.” 

“Thanks, Lou.” 

Louis’ more than a little worried now, but he’ll bite back his questions for a little while. Harry looks miserable and clearly isn’t going to say much at the moment, so Louis will wait. He grabs a blanket from the guest room and, on second thought, goes into his own bedroom and finds the largest jumper he owns. It’s a relatively new one, bright red and handwoven — gift from Lottie for his birthday. He comes back and hands both to Harry, who looks at the jumper questioningly. 

“Put it on, please. It’s cold as fuck and you look like you’ll freeze your limbs off.”

And to his surprise, Harry doesn’t put up a fight. He simply takes the jumper from Louis and pulls it over his head in a semi graceful movement. Then he takes the blanket, drapes it over himself, and snuggles into the cushions with his eyes closed. Louis can see he’s trying to make himself as small as possible and it’s not something he should notice. It’s not something he should be paying attention to. But he is. It makes him think of the few times when — years ago — Harry would get upset with him over something and do the same thing. This seems bigger than that, though. When he fought with Louis all that time ago, he didn’t run off to sleep in someone else’s house. 

With a sigh, Louis picks up the file he was reading and settles into the loveseat. There’s no point in sitting and watching Harry sleep, so he just starts where he left off before Harry’s text distracted him. It’s a heavy case and Louis’ not sure he’ll be able to win it. Even in a country as advanced as England, odds are always, _always_ stacked against marginalized groups and it breaks Louis’ heart day in and day out. It’s the life he chose for himself, though, so he continues reading about Natasha’s case, looking for anything and everything that will keep her and her baby from being separated. It’s the most satisfying and fulfilling feeling when somebody’s life improves and he knows he played a part in it happening. It’s one of the reasons he put himself through the absolutely gruelling experience of law school. 

So Louis marks the file and jots down notes to himself in the margins. He loses track of himself easily like this and doesn’t realize how much time passes before Harry stirs awake and croaks out, “Hey.”

Louis looks up from his work and looks at Harry — soft, sleep ruffled Harry. His hair is matted to his forehead and there’s an angry pink line running down his cheek, probably an indent from having the cushion pressed into his face for so long. It makes Louis smile a bit. “Hey, sleeping beauty.”

Harry hums noncommittally. “Sorry for just... crashing on your couch while you were working,” he says and he sounds a little embarrassed. Like genuinely embarrassed and that’s odd. Harry’s not one to be shy about making himself completely at home here. That was more Liam’s style, but even he has loosened up. It’s not like Louis’ got other people living with him, so his place is always open to the lads. He says as much to Harry. 

“You know I don’t mind, Haz.” 

“I know.” 

A hush falls between them and Louis just looks at Harry, who’s looking back at Louis without really looking. His sad, _sad_ eyes flicker from Louis to the bag he brought with him and back to Louis and then he sighs. “Sorry,” he says again, his voice oh so despondent and laced with sleep. “You probably had plans and I ruined them by coming here like this and taking up your space.” 

That makes Louis chuckle and he gestures at the file in his lap and on the others on the table. “Oh, yeah, I had grand plans for today. Just a day _full_ of exciting plans.”

A flicker of a smile plays around the corners of Harry’s mouth. “Shut up, you know what I mean.” 

Louis hums. “I actually didn’t have any plans today. Like, at all. Figured we’d all do something for your birthday like always, so I kept my day plan-free.” 

Harry stares at him with big green eyes, mouth parted in what can only be surprise. “For me?” he asks like he can’t quite believe it. 

Louis shrugs as though it’s no big deal because it shouldn’t be. “It’s been a thing for a while, so... you know...” He lets his words fade into the air quietly because, well, he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know why there was no invitation to do anything this year and he doesn’t know why Harry’s suddenly at his house, so he doesn’t really know what he _should_ say. So he asks, “What happened? Everything alright?”

Harry averts his gaze and picks at the blanket still in his lap. “I just... didn’t wanna spend the day alone,” he admits, so softly. A crease appears between his brows. “Ryan got held up at work and I didn’t want to go to Mum’s or my sister’s, I didn’t feel like bothering them, so I just started driving. I didn't, like, mean to come here. I was just driving to the bakery and then I was parked outside with a small cake and just... I dunno. It was instinct, I guess, to drive here. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry.”

“Sorry.”

“Harry.”

“I’m not —” He pouts. “Okay.” 

Louis chuckles. “It’s _okay,_ Harold. When’s Ryan coming home?” 

The pout turns into a scowl. “Late. I don't know. He was supposed to spend the day with me, he _promised_ me he’d be free all day so we could spend today together and make it special. Then he got called in and Jamie couldn’t make it, so, he’s gone. He’s been gone all fucking day.” 

“Jamie?” 

“Yeah, his partner.” He touches the corner of his mouth with his thumb and forefinger like he so often does. “She busted her lip some time ago and I guess it didn’t heal properly. I don't know. She had surgery for it this morning.” 

“Is that why you didn’t invite anyone today? Because you wanted a quiet day in?”

“Yeah. I wanted _one_ day with my husband. I just wanted one fucking day where I’m his priority because he’s been working so much and he already told me he’ll be working on Valentine’s Day. So I wanted today for _me_ and I wanted _sex._ God, Louis, I’m pretty sure I haven’t had sex in more than a month and I’m... I _want_ it.” 

Well. Okay. Louis wasn’t exactly prepared to hear _all_ of that. “Well.” 

As if he’s just realizing what he actually said, Harry’s cheeks turn a bright pink. “I’m sorry — _God,_ I didn’t mean to just dump that all on you. Jesus Christ. I’m not, like, hungry for sex or anything. I just miss it, you know, I just want — I’ll shut up. Fuck.”

Louis doesn’t say anything for a moment and just lets Harry suffer the embarrassment of his own words. He has his face hidden in his hands now, no doubt red as a fucking tomato. Louis would think it’s hilarious, if it weren’t for the fact that the idea of someone else’s hands on Harry still makes his stomach turn upside down. He can’t say that, though, so he just lets the quiet swim between them. 

When he thinks enough time has passed and he’s tortured Harry enough, he says, “I’m not going to offer you sex or probably anything your spouse offered, but I _can_ make you a priority for the rest of my day — or evening, really. What say you?” 

Harry lifts his head. He’s beet red. “You don’t have to. Honest. I just didn’t want to be alone all day.” 

“I know. But you’ve had a shit day so far from the sounds of it and I can help turn it around. You up for it?” 

Harry doesn’t look convinced. “What do you have in mind?” 

Louis closes his file and stacks them all neatly before answering. He stands up and says, “I’ll cook you dinner and we’ll eat that cake you bought.” 

Harry blinks. _“You’ll_ cook me dinner?”

“Yes, I’ll cook. You don’t know this, but I’ve learned a trick or two recently. C’mon.” 

He doesn’t wait for Harry to get up and heads to the kitchen, knowing Harry will follow. Honestly, his culinary skills are nothing to boast about, but he _has_ learned a thing or two recently from a coworker. It pays off to have skilled and competent colleagues who can help make Louis a bit more well rounded. There’s no telling if Harry will like his meal, but such is life. He’ll have to stomach it. 

Once in the kitchen, Louis takes out the chicken he’d already marinated. Harry walks in exactly when Louis puts the bowl of chicken on the island and disbelief colors his face. “Did you _know_ I’d be showing up here like a miserable sod?” 

“No,” Louis rolls his eyes. “I was planning on making this for the girls tomorrow and having dinner with them, so I started on it last night. Gonna have to sort something else out for them now.” 

“Leave it, then,” Harry says immediately. He’s got that look on his face, the one he always gets when he doesn’t want to be a bother. “I don’t mind having a toast or something, Lou. Leave that for them.”

“It’s your birthday, not theirs.” 

“Yeah, but that’s for them.”

“Think they’ll live, Haz. They don’t even know I was planning on cooking myself. And, hey, this way I get to taste test it on you.”

“Oh, that’s all I am to you? A bunch of taste buds at your service?”

“Yeah, duh.” 

That gets a laugh out of Harry and, yeah, that’s good. It’s all good. 

“Now, pay attention. You, too, can impress with this simple magic.” Louis jogs back to the coffee table to grab his phone and pulls up the recipe on his way back to the kitchen. When he comes back, he finds Harry standing by the chicken and licking his finger. “Did you... did you just put your hand in my _uncooked_ chicken and taste it?” 

“No?”

“You fucking liar. Step away from my ingredients, sir.” 

There’s a dimple in Harry’s cheek. Things are good. “It’s good, I think. Raw, but good.”

_“Step away, sir.”_

“Jeez, okay,” Harry laughs, but takes a small step back from the island. 

“Thanks. Now watch.” He takes out the deep fryer and sets it on. It’s really not the most difficult dish to make, but Louis likes to make a bit of a fuss over it, anyway. Life’s nothing without a bit of flair. Once the oil is hot, he drops the marinated chicken into the fryer and it immediately starts sizzling. Harry watches the scene before him like he’s sure he stepped into some sort of alternate reality. With a chuckle, Louis takes out three cloves of garlic and hands them to Harry. “Chop these, please. Tiny pieces.” And just like that, without any questions, Harry grabs the chopping board and starts cutting methodically. “You’re gonna wanna make those pieces real fine, Harold, just like yourself.”

And _there’s_ that obnoxious, honking laugh. “Shut _up,_ Louis. I have a sharp object in my hand.”

“Hm, well, be careful,” he says, not even trying to hold back his grin. 

Once Harry’s done chopping his garlic, Louis pulls out a saute pan from the cabinet and sets it on high heat after pouring just a bit of vegetable oil in it. “Come here, you. Bring that with you.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Now. Throw this in there when the pan is hot and then dial the heat down. Stir diligently.” 

Harry looks at him questionably. “Where did you learn this?” 

Louis smiles at him. “I’m a respected lawyer, Mr. Styles. I know how to cook a few decent meals.”

Harry scoffs because he can spot the lie in that statement. “I know the extent of your cooking abilities very well, Lou. Spill.” 

Louis pulls out his other ingredients. “Elliot taught me.”

“Who’s Elliot?”

“A friend.”

“Hmm.” 

“You have to _stir.”_

“I _am_ stirring.”

“If you burn the garlic it’s all gonna go to shit.” 

“You’re multitasking. How the fuck are you multitasking?” 

Louis raises his brows. “Am I?” 

“Your chicken isn’t done. Who are you?” 

_“Stir.”_

“I’m _stirring,_ shut up. It’s starting to golden.” 

“Shit. Okay.” He mixes the corn flour in water quickly (and sloppily, but there’s no time to be neat about it). “Here, pour this in.” He hands the tomato puree to Harry, along with the sauce and the garlic and ginger paste. “Yeah, just put them in and stir. Add, uh, two spoonfuls of salt. You need a bit of red chili powder from the cabinet. And pepper. Two cups of water.”

Harry moves around the kitchen easily, finding everything like he knows just where it is. All the ingredients are in one place, really, but still. It pulls at Louis’ heartstrings. Louis takes the chicken out of the fryer and put it on the island. He watches Harry mix and stir everything in the saute like he knows exactly what he’s making. Everything he does looks so natural in the kitchen. Louis takes the corn flour to the stove and says, “Now watch.” He takes the ladle from Harry and pours the liquid in slowly, stirring it without stopping. “You don’t want the sauce to be watery. We’ll let it cook for a bit and the corn flour will thicken it. Grab the chicken, let’s add it.” He thinks he’s forgetting something, but he can’t be. He knows he did everything the recipe calls for — and then: _“Peppers!”_

“What?” 

“There should be peppers in the fridge, could you grab one?” 

Harry chuckles. “Yeah.”

So he gets the green pepper and cuts it into neat squares and then they stand there waiting for it to be done. 

“Seriously, Lou,” Harry says at one point. “How’d you learn that?” 

“I told you, Harold. Elliot’s got a brilliant mind.” 

“He’s got to, if he was able to teach you that.” 

Louis bites back a smirk. “She.”

“What?”

 _“She_ has got a brilliant mind.”

Pink cheeks. “Oh.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Well, she sounds great. Tell her thanks for the birthday dinner.” 

“Will do, Curly. What else do you wanna do? Anything I can do that husband dearest had promised?” 

“He didn’t _promise_ anything, it wasn’t like that. Only that he’d be home. Everything else was just me fantasizing about a lazy day with him. Breakfast in bed, well deserved sex, dancing in the kitchen, maybe some flowers for me. Shitty or maybe really expensive wine. I don’t know. Just a day for me since I’ll have to be on my own for Valentine’s Day.”

_Rice!_

“We forgot rice.” 

“What?”

“We forgot the _rice,_ genius. The chicken goes with boiled rice.”

“What are you looking at me for? It’s your dish.”

Louis sighs. “I bought everything for this, like, two days ago. Now we gotta wait to have the rice ready.” 

“C’mon, you drama queen. It’ll only taken like fifteen minutes. Get it out.”

So Louis does — and then he hands it over to Harry. “You do it, please. I’ll be right back. And take the pan off the heat in a minute or two.” 

And then he makes his way to the mini bar he keeps well stocked. He doesn’t make a habit of buying himself loads of classy wine, but the law firm recently received a very generous gift from a very lovely client. Everyone got a bottle and this is as good a night as any to open it. When he comes back to the kitchen, he sets the bottle on the island and gives his phone to Harry, who’s standing there looking a bit lost. 

“What do I do with this?” 

Louis clicks on the Spotify app. “Take your pick. I’ll dance with you in the kitchen.” 

And Harry’s face visibly just... melts. His features go so _soft_ and Louis has to look down at the phone, or something. “Lou...” 

“Go on, then. Just because Ryan isn’t here doesn’t mean you can’t have your dance.” 

Harry hesitates. It kills Louis a little bit inside, but he doesn’t mind. It’s been years and he’s used to it now, as much as he’ll ever be. Then Harry’s fingers fly over the screen and he’s choosing a song. Louis thinks he knows which one it’ll be and then he hears it before Harry even puts the phone down on the counter, and, yeah. “You fucker,” he chuckles, and it’s a little strangled because his heart is sitting in his throat, but he pulls Harry into his arms, anyway. It’s weird, for a moment. They haven’t done this in a long time. A long, _long_ time. Their last dance was before Harry got married and Louis can’t even remember it. He didn’t know then that it would be the last one. 

“Lou?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I missed you.”

“When?” 

“I got to dance with Gemma and Niall and Liam. Zayn was there. I got a dance with all my favorite people, but you weren’t there and I missed you.”

 _Oh._ They don’t talk about that. They’ve talked about it exactly once, when Harry was piss drunk and Louis was on his way there. He doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t know what to say, so he just sways from side to side and hopes Harry can’t hear the beat of his heart. He’d cleared this day for Harry’s birthday, but Harry’s wedding day... Louis had made damn sure he was booked and busy that day. It wasn’t anything vitally important, but he needed a reason to tell Harry. He just could not stand there and watch his ex marry somebody else. There are a lot of difficult things Louis can do with a heavy heart, but watching _Harry_ promise himself to someone else is not one of them. So Louis had skipped the wedding. And they don’t talk about it. 

Still, Louis says, “I’m sorry.”

And Harry says, “No, I get it. You don't have to apologize. I just... missed you.”

“I know.” 

Harry pushes him away to an arm’s length and says, “Thank you. For this and everything else.” And he kisses the top of Louis’ head. 

They hold each other in the kitchen and dance to The Velvet Underground until the rice is ready and then they eat dinner together. Louis opens the expensive bottle and pours Harry a generous amount. They get a little wine drunk and ate the carrot cake on the sofa. With his feet in Louis’ lap, Harry texts Ryan to tell him he’ll sleep the night here. 

“No birthday sex for me,” he sighs then. 

“Not even a little bit? In the morning?” 

Another sigh. “No, nothing.” 

A very small part of Louis thinks, _Good._ He says, “That’s a shame.” 

“Happy birthday to me,” Harry singsongs sadly, eyes closed and mouth red from the wine. 

Louis wants to kiss him.

“Happy birthday to you, Curly.” 

Neither of them move. 

Harry falls asleep there and so does Louis.

△▼△

Harry isn’t sure what he’s doing. He’s sitting in his car, engine cut way too long ago, hands stuffed in the pockets of his parka. He isn’t moving, but he doesn’t know how to get rid of the nervous energy that’s making him feel like he could throw up. He wants to go on a run, maybe put on his boxing gloves and hit something, but all he can do is sit in his car motionless. He knows Louis is home — he can see the lights turned on inside. He can see Louis’ car parked out front. Still, he can’t get himself to get out of his own car and ring the doorbell. It shouldn’t be so hard to do because it’s only Louis, for Christ’s sake. But maybe that’s the problem. It’s Louis. 

_Get the fuck out of the car or go home._

He can’t go home, not right now. Few things are less appealing than the idea of seeing Ryan’s face tonight or sleeping in an empty bed. With a sigh, Harry grabs the half empty bottle of gin and gets out of his car, wincing against the frigid air. It’s too cold and he should be at home, tucked in bed with his spouse. Instead, he’s stood in the street outside his best friend’s house. Mustering all the courage he has, Harry manages the daunting task of walking up to Louis’ front door. It’s red; much of the exterior of the house is red and Harry vaguely remembers that being Louis’ favorite colour. Louis has been living in this house for several years and the door has always been red. Maybe some things don’t change. 

Now that he’s here, though, he doesn’t know if he can actually knock or ring the bell. He shouldn’t even be here. But if he can’t go to Louis, then who? He pulls out his mobile and opens his messages with Louis. 

_Let me in?_ he sends. 

He doesn’t even know if Louis is still awake or if he’s busy or if he has an early morning. He’s just here. 

Louis doesn’t text back immediately, nor does he open the door for Harry. Busy, probably. Harry sits down on the cold porch steps, biting down on his lip at the uncomfortable sensation. Maybe he should go home or somewhere that isn’t here. Gemma’s place, maybe. But she’ll get worried if he shows up there now and it’ll probably worry his mum when she inevitably finds out. He takes a swig from his bottle. 

_Louis?_ He texts again. 

Harry wonders what Louis is doing. He’s usually quite timely about responding to texts when he’s at home and not busy. _Maybe he’s busy._ Harry again considers leaving, genuinely considers getting up and driving around town, maybe, but then there’s the sound of a doorknob being turned and then there’s the sound of Louis’ voice. 

“Harry?” 

Harry looks over his shoulder and up at Louis, and almost smiles. Not quite, but almost. Louis’ standing there wearing a white dress shirt with the top three buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’s got on black skinnies that have a rip in the right knee and his feet are uncharacteristically clad with black and white socks. Polka dot print. They’re cute, like something Harry might wear. 

Louis’ eyes crinkle under the dim light, just like they always do when he’s smiling or frowning. He’s frowning right now. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

Harry tries to get up, but it’s a bit difficult to do so and he almost staggers off the porch. Louis catches him by the arm and steadies him with a gentle, _Haz, be careful._ Harry’s clumsy enough at it is when he’s fully sober; alcohol flowing through his system doesn’t make things easier for anyone. Louis steers them both inside without another word and Harry goes with him without complaint. Faint smell of something delicious lingers in the air and Harry wonders what it could be, but before he can ask Louis about it, they walk into Louis’ sitting room and there’s a man... sitting on one of Louis’ sofas. Harry doesn’t recognize him. There are two bottles of Stella on the coffee table — no coasters in sight. Typical Louis. 

“Hello,” the man says, but it sounds like a question to Harry so he looks at Louis for an answer. 

“Harry, this is Andrew.” Harry looks at Andrew, who’s still looking at Harry with questions in his eyes and, surely, on his tongue. “Andrew, this is my best friend Harry.” 

“Hi,” Harry says. He should smile, he thinks, and normally he would, but with a half empty bottle of liquor in his hand and Ryan’s voice still echoing in his head, it simply doesn’t come. Harry is certain that he looks as miserable as he feels, which means he shouldn’t be here to begin with, but oh well. He’ll apologize to Louis later when his judgement isn’t clouded and his words are sincere. Or maybe his words are sincere right now when there isn’t a filter between his mind and his mouth. He doesn’t feel _that_ drunk, though. 

Andrew and Louis look at each other for a moment before Andrew says, “I can head out, it’s no problem.” Harry should feel bad because, well... clearly, something was happening here. Maybe this was a date. Maybe Louis really likes this Andrew person. Maybe Harry should be the one picking up his remaining dignity from the hardwood floor and leaving. 

Louis’ voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “Thank you, Andrew. I’m sorry about this, but really, thank you.” 

Louis goes to walk Andrew to his car, Harry assumes. Louis says he’ll be right back and Harry doesn’t ask. Instead, he walks over to the opposite end of the sofa that Andrew was sitting on and snuggles into the cushions. This is what heaven might feel like — if heaven had people suffering from migraines and marriage troubles. 

_Trouble in paradise,_ Harry thinks, a humourless giggle bubbling out of him at his own thoughts. There’s an idea for a song somewhere in there. 

Harry closes his eyes and leans back into the soft cushions, his eyelids heavy. The bottle of gin rests precariously on his chest and almost falls to the floor when Louis’ voice startles him. Louis eyes him carefully from a little ways away and then says, “You’re a mess,” but there’s a softness in his voice. Harry can only attempt a shrug, but it proves difficult in his position. Louis comes closer and pries away the alcohol from Harry’s cold fingers. “I’ll go make you a cuppa. Stay here, okay?” He takes the afghan that’s draped over the back of the sofa and covers Harry with it. 

“I’m not cold, Louis.” Harry’s words betray him because when the soft fabric settles over him, all Harry can smell is that distinct scent that can only be described as _Louis_ and he breathes it in, tugging the fabric closer to himself. It’s comforting after the awful day and night he has had. But it’s quiet, too, and Harry didn’t come here for quiet. He came here for Louis, because Louis almost always knows what to do or what to say to make things better. He’s here to talk to Louis, so he pushes the afghan off of himself and gets up from the sofa. 

Harry makes his way towards the kitchen and notes the new picture frames on the walls. Félicité’s engagement party. Harry was invited; she came to give him the invite herself, but Ryan was ill and Harry didn’t want to leave him alone. He hasn’t seen these pictures yet: Louis with all six of his little siblings, all of them beaming at the camera. Louis’ mum is missing from the photo and Harry feels a tug on that distant sadness he so often feels when he thinks about Jay. He still misses her when it’s Mother’s Day and she doesn’t call up Harry’s mum to make plans for lunch or when Louis’ birthday falls on Christmas Eve and he doesn’t get an invite to the party from her. 

There’s another picture of Louis with only the younger twins; Louis has his eyes squeezed shut while Ernie and Doris kiss his cheeks. It’s adorable and it makes Harry’s heart ache for something similar. That was always the plan. Ryan always knew that was the plan and Harry can’t understand where they went wrong. 

When he gets to the kitchen, Louis’ standing with his back to him, peering into the kettle. Harry walks up to him and wraps his arms around Louis from behind. His chin rests on Louis’ shoulder and Louis tenses at first, but then relaxes when Harry doesn’t let go. He smells soft, like the faint lavender from the detergent Jay always used. Louis probably uses the same one. 

“What’s wrong, Haz?” he asks again and this time Harry feels something cave in inside of him when Louis’ hands come to rest on Harry’s forearms.. 

“We had a fight,” Harry admits quietly against Louis’ shoulder, as though speaking the words gently will somehow lessen their meaning. As thought speaking quietly will make it any less embarrassing. 

“Again?” When Harry stays quiet, Louis untangles himself from their awkward hug and gets to pouring their teas. A dash of milk, no sugar. It’s been a little while since Louis has made tea for Harry, but he still remembers how Harry likes to take it. Harry watches him do everything expertly, like he knows it well enough to be able to do it flawlessly in his sleep and Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he can, considering how much he loves his tea. “Come on, then.” He carries both cups back to the sitting room, probably afraid Harry would trip on his own feet and spill hot liquid everywhere. When they’re both on the sofa, Louis sitting where Andrew was and Harry sitting on the other end, there’s a moment of quiet. 

It’s how things have always been between them. Even when they were younger and less jaded, silence was never something they shied away from. Sometimes no amount of words can convey what the air of quiet between two people can and sometimes they communicated better without any words floating between them. Harry can feel Louis’ eyes on him. Those pale blue eyes that always make Harry feel like a teenager in the best way. Harry watches his tea instead of watching Louis. 

“Harry.” 

“Hmm.” 

“What happened?” 

There’s no reason to bite his tongue. He came here to _talk,_ to yell and scream and let everything out. There is no reason why he should sit here quietly and brush anything under the rug. Harry sips his tea — too hot for him, perfect for Louis — and sets it down on the coffee table. 

“I fought with Ryan.” 

“You fought with Ryan a week ago.” Louis doesn’t sound surprised and maybe that in itself should be alarming, but it isn’t. Harry has called him a few too many times in the dead of the night. Sometimes he lays in bed alone and rants to Louis hours on end. Sometimes he calls Louis and says nothing and Louis simply talks about his day until Harry falls asleep. 

“I think... I think I gave him an ultimatum,” Harry says. 

A long pause from Louis. Harry looks up and finds Louis looking away from him, his eyes now focused on the half empty bottle of Stella on the table. Then: “What happened?” 

“He’s being a _prick,_ Louis. It’s the same shit all over again.”

“Another assignment?” 

“Yes. He said he has to go undercover again and he doesn’t yet know how long for.” Harry finds himself transported back to his own house, arguing with his husband in the kitchen while he cooked dinner for them both. When they got married five years ago, they both knew what they wanted: focus on their jobs, build a home together, start a family. It was a plan they had made very carefully and all the pieces were meant to fall into place easily. Their jobs were important, but not at the expense of their marriage and their family. Ryan was promoted, but he didn’t need to take on _every_ assignment that fell into his lap. “He said he has to go away ‘for some time’ and that he doesn’t know when the best time would be to have kids. Louis, he basically said he doesn’t know if he even _wants_ kids.” 

Louis’ quiet again. It’s unlike him to be so quiet, to not have any wisdom to share. Granted, he isn’t married and hasn’t really been in a relationship for some time, but that never stopped him from doling out love advice to their other friends. Harry waits for him to say something, anything, and Louis must catch on because he asks, “Why not?” 

_Why not?_ Harry feels his eyebrows furrow. _Why..._ Oh. 

“It’s not that he doesn’t want kids,” Harry backtracks. He picks up his tea again and takes a sip, lets it run down his throat. “I know he does, we’ve always agreed on that. We both always wanted kids, but he keeps saying he changed his mind. He doesn’t think he _should_ have children, that he doesn’t have time for them and he isn’t cut out to be a father, at least not right now. _‘Not while I have to worry about my job, Harry.’_ I think it’s bullshit. You can’t just change your mind.” 

“Why not?” 

That’s not a question Harry expected from Louis and it makes him blink. 

“Because... what am I supposed to do, then?” Harry counters. “I’ve always... my whole life, ever since I _knew_ what I wanted my life to look like, I knew I wanted a family. I want a marriage I’m happy in and I want kids running around the house. I want — Louis, I want a house full of kids and laughter and love and I can’t — Ryan doesn’t know if he wants that anymore. What am I supposed to do if he doesn’t want a family with me?” 

Louis chuckles at that, but it’s an empty sound. He sips his tea without looking at Harry. “I’m afraid my law degree didn’t adequately prepare me to answer that question, Haz.” 

And it’s enough to put a crack in the tension between them. “I’m not asking you to be a lawyer,” Harry says. “I’m just asking you... what would you do? If you were in my place, what would you do?” 

“For starters, I wouldn’t have married him.” Louis still doesn’t look at Harry and it’s beginning to get under Harry’s skin now. “You know that I —” 

This isn’t something they talk about often. In fact, this is something they hardly ever talk about. This is one of those things that, if it comes up, they both act clueless. Louis pretends his feelings aren’t there and Harry pretends he doesn’t know Louis is trying too hard to hide what he feels. 

“You have to talk to him,” Louis says, once again diverting from what he really wants to say. He keeps looking at the bottle of Stella that’s been left on the table and Harry wonders what he’s really seeing. “If you want to make it work with him, you have to talk. Can’t really expect him to see eye to eye with you if he doesn’t know what it is that you see.” 

_What do_ you _see, Louis?_ he wants to ask. 

“I don’t want to ‘make it work with him,’” he says instead. “I don’t want to make it an obligation for him, I want him to want it. I want him to want a family with me. I don’t want it to be work. I’m tired of his work.” 

“Then what? Did you ask him to choose between his career and... you?” Louis asks, as though he can’t quite believe Harry would do such a thing.

“Yes,” Harry admits.

“Harry...”

“What, Lou? What am I supposed to do? You _know_ how much I want this, how badly I’ve always just wanted a family. And I’ve been patient with him. We’ve been married for five years, Louis. Five fucking years and now he says he quite possibly may never have children. What the _hell_ am I supposed to do with that? Wait five _more_ years to see if he has another change of heart? This time in my favour?” 

“Is it Ryan you want, or kids?” 

“Kids.” The word falls out of his mouth before he can even think about it and that’s when Louis looks at him. “Both,” Harry tries again, “I want both. I love Ryan and I want kids with him, but I don’t... fuck. I don’t know. I just know we don’t want the same things.” He thinks about all the nights spent alone in their bed, one side too cold because Ryan was somewhere no one was allowed to know. He thinks about spending his last birthday alone because Ryan was busy with work and couldn’t be with Harry. He thinks about Ryan prioritizing his job over his life with Harry and how it’s starting to bleed into everything Harry does. “I drink a lot when we fight,” Harry confesses, even though Louis didn’t ask. Harry’s father and grandfather both fought their battles with alcoholism, so Louis understands what that means without an explanation. 

“Harry...” 

“I know, Lou.” 

“I don’t like this.” 

“I know.” 

There’s quiet again and Harry can’t busy himself with his tea because it’s gone cold and Louis has finished his. He always did like his tea a little too hot to be comfortable. He puts the cup on the table in front of him, then leans back against the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table. Harry can tell he’s tired by the way he closes his eyes and crosses his arms above his head. Harry wonders if Louis and Andrew went out; Louis isn’t the type to wear a dress shirt at home, even with all the lawyering he might do. As far as Harry knows, when Louis works from home, he does so in a tracksuit or in a hoodie and a pair of joggers. This slightly dressed up version of Louis isn’t the easiest to come by, so, naturally, Harry wonders. The three undone buttons taunt Harry. 

“I’m sorry if I ruined your night with Andrew.” 

“Nah, mate. He was a bit boring, anyway. Didn’t connect with him all that well.” 

“You always say that and then never really see the same people again. How are you going to meet _the one?”_

Louis hums, but doesn’t answer any further. He keeps his eyes closed and Harry keeps shamelessly watching him. There’s something he’s been wanting to say to Louis, but he knows once he says it, he won’t be able to take it back. And Louis doesn’t deserve that. Harry knows this. What happened between them and what didn’t happen, it was all down to Harry. When they were young and in love, it was Harry’s choice to go to university outside of the city and _explore._ It was his own choices that led him farther and farther away from Louis, even though their paths were always interconnected. They broke up because Harry thought they were better off being just friends. They stayed friends because Harry thought he couldn’t lose Louis completely. They kept teetering around each other because Harry thought they could do it. Then Harry fell in love and got married and Louis stayed in love with Harry and never got married. 

“Louis?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t want to end up alone.”

“You won’t end up alone.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I have faith in you, Curly. You’ll figure it out with Ryan, he’d be insanely stupid to let you go.” 

That makes Harry laugh, just a bit. It’s not that Louis hates or even dislikes Ryan, he knows that. It’s just that Louis sort of can’t stand Ryan. Harry reckons he wouldn’t, either, if Ryan married the person he was in love with, so he doesn’t really blame Louis. And it just makes him think more about what he wants to say. 

“Louis?” 

“Yeah?”

“Nothing.” 

Harry kicks off his shoes and shimmies out of his jacket, then snuggles back into the sofa more comfortably like before with the afghan tucked up to his chin. Louis shifts, too. He turns his whole body around, so that his right side is pressed into the sofa, his legs finding their way under the afghan and his sock covered feet touching Harry’s. He looks at Harry in that way that he sometimes does, with longing in his pale blue eyes. Harry thinks it’s probably because he thinks Harry doesn’t notice, but maybe he just doesn’t know how to hide it all the time. It’s just _there_ in his eyes sometimes, clear as a cloudless sky. 

Louis taps Harry’s ankle with his toes. “I can tell you’re trying to work something out, I can practically see the gears turning in your head. Come on, spit it out.” 

And Harry only has so much self control. “Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if we’d given us another chance. I’ve been wondering that a lot. What if it was you and me, instead of me and Ryan.”

That’s not Louis was expecting, Harry sees it on his face: the way his eyebrows knit together in confusion, then the way his mouth forms a silent _O,_ then the way he looks away from Harry’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, not quite sure what exactly he’s apologizing for. “You asked. And I do wonder.” 

“Haz...” Louis looks at him again, this time with barely concealed anguish in his eyes. “Did you actually get drunk? Are you fucking with me?” 

Harry laughs dryly. “Don’t _you_ wonder?” 

“That isn’t — that’s not the point. You’re married. You got _married.”_

“Believe me, I know. Doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to wonder if it was the right decision to make. Who gets engaged right out of uni?”

“Lots of people.” 

“Maybe that’s why divorce rates are so high.” 

“Chill out there, now. No one’s getting divorced.” 

“You’ve not answered my question still.” 

“I don’t have to.” 

“I’m sorry.” It’s stupid to ask and maybe selfish, too. He knows he shouldn’t be making any demands when things turned out the way they did because of him. 

“You’re my best friend, Haz,” Louis says, softly, like a reminder. Like Harry doesn’t know that. 

“I know that. But I know you wanted more.” 

Louis pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “Yeah. Wanted.” 

_Wanted._

Harry doesn’t know and can’t tell if Louis’ telling the truth or if he’s masking his feelings again because his eyes tell a different story. They’re as open as ever, they look as pained as ever at the thought of putting his feelings in the past tense. Harry moves his feet so he can trap Louis’ underneath his own; between the two of them, Louis’ the one who’s always getting cold. When they were younger and freer, they used to fall asleep tangled in the same sheets, at home in each other’s heat. That doesn’t really happen anymore. 

“Tell me about Andrew.” 

“Why?” 

“You were on a date.”

“Mhmm.” 

“What’s he like? I think I was rude to him.” 

Louis smiles. “You were kind of cute, in a petulant kid kinda way. You know when they don’t like sharing their sweets, but have to anyway? That was you.” 

Harry feels his face get hot. “I was upset.” 

“He’s alright. Not what I’m looking for, though.” 

Harry lifts his eyebrows. “You know what you’re looking for?” Harry didn’t realize Louis is _looking_ for anything. 

Louis stays silent, just stares at Harry in that way of his. Harry stares back, because sometimes it’s nice to just look at Louis. He’s so different from Ryan. They both have blue eyes, but Ryan’s are a cool, empty blue that stays the same almost all the time. Louis’ eyes are ever changing. Harry loves them best when Louis wears grey and his eyes turn stormy to match the colour. It doesn’t happen because he doesn’t get to see Louis in grey often, but when he does, it’s a sight to behold. Ryan is safe and predictable, which was what drew Harry to him in the first place — the sense of stability that Harry so deeply craves. Louis is not that. Louis is wild and chaotic, operating in ways that Harry doesn’t always understand. It’s probably what made Harry break up with him years ago, when all he wanted was a sure future. As fate would have it, ironically, Louis stayed one of the few constants in Harry’s life when everything seemed to be changing. 

“I do wonder,” Louis says suddenly, just barely above a whisper, and Harry’s almost sure he misread it until Louis speaks again. “I wonder every day.” Louis moves to stick out his right arm towards Harry. “Every day I look at this, and every day I wonder what if it was you and me, instead of you and Ryan. Every day it kills me a little.” 

Harry stares at Louis’ bare arm in front of him, stares at the compass pointing to _Home_ inked into his skin. Harry remembers the day Louis got the tattoo — a day after Harry got the ship done on his left arm. They knew then that it was a big commitment, knew that ships don’t sail without a compass and a compass is useless without anything to guide back home. They _knew._ But they got them done anyway because they were sure of what they meant to each other: a harbor that leads home. They didn’t know life wouldn’t work out in their favour. 

Tentatively, Harry reaches out and trails a finger over the dark ink. Some of the smaller lines are a little faded and Harry assumes it hasn’t been retouched in a while. Probably for the better, he thinks. But he still can’t help the irrational twinge of pain he feels. It’s not like he’s had his own tattoo fixed up every now and again at any signs of wear. 

“I do think we’d have been better.” Louis’ words bring Harry back to the here and now, to Louis looking at him with wistful eyes. “I know we don’t always see eye to eye on things and we’re different in a lot of ways, but I know you also know that you and I were always more compatible than you and Ryan have ever been. I’ve seen you two around each other, Haz.” 

Harry feels put on the spot. He knows that he loves Ryan, he _knows_ that. He didn’t spend years of his life with the man just because he felt like he had to. He knows there’s mutual affection, but he doesn’t think that’s enough at this point. He knows it isn’t. He’s not the kind of person who can be happy with just a spouse. Gemma was talking about adopting a baby recently and Harry always thought he’d be the first one out of them to have kids. Gemma will make an excellent mother, but everyone knows it’s always been Harry who has wanted kids for years. He was always the one babysitting for friends and family for free, just because he got to be around kids and he could think of nothing better in the world than having a baby fall asleep on his chest. 

“Do you think...” He doesn’t know if he should ask, but he knows he has to now. He can’t hold back the questions flooding his mind. “Do you think we would’ve made it? Happily?” 

Louis stares at his tattoo. “Yeah. I do.” 

“Louis —”

“No, don’t, Harry. You’re married.” 

“I know, but —”

“No, you don’t get a _but_. You made a vow.” 

Louis doesn’t look at him, but there’s an edge to his voice. It’s like he’s trying to convince himself more than Harry and that makes no sense. 

“I could’ve been wrong,” Harry whispers. “I think I was wrong. Ryan and I won’t work like I thought we would.” 

Louis peers up. He tries to pull his feet away from Harry’s and Harry looks at him with a silent plea and Louis stops moving. “And what if you were wrong?” 

“What about Andrew?” 

“Andrew isn’t here, if you failed to notice. You are.” 

“But who is he?” 

“A distraction,” Louis snaps. “He’s something to kill time because sometimes I have too much of it and I don’t always like spending it alone around you and Ryan and all the other loved up couples. So he’s my solution.” 

“So what does it mean that I’m here and he’s not?” 

“You tell me. You’re the one with a ring on your finger.” 

And just like that, for the first time all night, Harry’s acutely aware of the platinum band around the fourth finger on his left hand. He could take it off easily, he thinks. But he can’t take off the ink from his skin without hurting like a bitch and that, he thinks, is some sort of cruel irony. Why must it hurt to cut Louis out of his life, but not the person he promised himself to? 

“Do you think we still have a chance?” Harry asks. 

Louis shakes his head and Harry’s heart sinks. “I’m not letting you make decisions about your marriage based on what I think. That’s on you. Talk to your husband when you’re not tipsy. Maybe see one of those marriage counselors. See what happens, maybe you’ll both understand each other better.” 

Harry frowns. “Why?” 

“Because I won’t have you resent me later if this is something you do because of me and then end up regretting it. I’m not going to lose you like that and have it be _my_ fault. So talk to Ryan and figure your shit out.” 

“And then? What if it doesn’t work?’ 

“Then... We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” A tiny smile tugs at Louis’ mouth. “But you always wanted stability. And family. A plethora of kids. I’m willing to have both and you know that. I can’t be who I am and not want kids. I’ve worked my ass off to be able to take care of the girls and Ernie after mum died and I’m good now, Haz. I have that stable life you’ve always wanted. But I’m not making you a part of it while you’re married to someone else. That’s not the person my mother raised.” 

“She raised a good one.” 

“I sure would like to think so, yeah.” 

Quiet falls between them and Harry doesn’t try to break it. He just watches Louis and hopes Louis can read the silent thanks in his eyes. He’s not sure where they are right now. It’s not an impasse, that much he knows, but that’s the extent of it. Maybe that’s enough for now. Harry allows himself to take in the room for the first time since he got here. It’s sleek and edgy with it’s dark contrast between the walls and furniture, sharp like Louis, but there’s a softness to it, too. The dim lights make everything soft, just like Louis. 

“Can I still sleep here if I’ve got a ring on my finger?” Harry asks. 

Louis chuckles. “Yeah. You can sleep here.” 

“And can I buy you some coasters so you don’t ruin your gorgeous tables?” 

Louis rolls his eyes, but it’s a fond gesture. “You can buy them, but you know I won’t use them half the time. Waste of money.” 

“Louis.” 

“What?”

“Thanks for letting me stay.”

“You’re welcome any time. You know that.” 

“I know.” 

They stay there, comfortable with each other and nothing else. Harry texts Ryan that he’ll be at Louis’ and then shuts his phone off. Louis clears away the bottles of alcohol from the room and Harry stays on the sofa. He feels more at home here than he has with Ryan for far too long. 

△▼△

The months following Harry’s drunken visit are the most anguished of Louis’ life. 

When Harry falls asleep in Louis’ guest room and Louis lays awake in his own bed, he doesn’t let himself hope for anything. He keeps his expectations tucked away in a darker corner of his mind. Just because Harry showed up at his doorstep again to complain about his husband, it doesn’t mean he’s willing to end his marriage. Just because a drunk Harry asked Louis about _them,_ it doesn’t mean that a sober Harry will want the same thing. And Louis isn’t a homewrecker. His mother didn’t raise him to break up someone else’s marriage — or even hope for such a thing. Harry isn’t Louis’. He hasn’t been for many years now. And couples argue. They fight. They have their highs and lows. Just because Ryan and Harry seem to be at a low, it doesn’t mean that their relationship will ultimately come to an end. And if it does, Louis doesn’t want to be the reason for it. Sometimes, if he thinks about Harry with Ryan for too long, it makes his stomach do something unpleasant, but still. He isn’t the kind of person to break up a relationship. 

So Louis doesn’t let himself hope. 

But that doesn’t mean he never wants it. 

Sometimes, when it’s late at night and he’s alone or when Harry texts him about something, he wants to hope. He wants Harry to be happy and he wants Harry to be happy with _him,_ but it’s never been that simple for them. Not when it’s about Harry. So Harry texts Louis about Ryan, asks if it’s the right decision, asks if maybe he’s being too dramatic, and Louis doesn’t give a single answer for any of the questions because he can’t be the one answering them. So Harry talks and Louis listens and that’s how they go back and forth for nearly three months. Harry still wants kids and Ryan still doesn’t. And Louis gets it. He gets Ryan. Going from investigative journalism to police academy and then working as a detective, Ryan doesn’t want kids and Louis gets it even if Harry doesn’t. Ryan says he won’t make a good father and Harry doesn’t see how someone can change their mind about wanting _children_ so easily, and the way he keeps trying to convince Ryan for months hurts Louis in a way he can’t articulate, but he thinks he gets that, too. He thinks he gets why Harry might be trying to cling to Ryan, to his marriage, to the steady life he has had for far too long. He hates that he gets it. 

So three months pass and then one night when Louis comes home from work, he spots Harry sitting on his front steps, a yellow file next to him. 

He doesn’t ask questions. All it takes is one look into Harry’s eyes and he knows. This is it. He holds out a hand and helps Harry to his feet, then wordlessly leads him inside. He doesn’t know what the protocol is for this. He doesn’t know what’s expected of him, so he just gives Harry some physical space and doesn’t ask anything about... that. 

“Tea?” he asks instead. 

Harry smiles, but it’s not the one Louis loves. It’s the ironic sort of smile he gets when’s feeling something ugly. “I need some... vodka. Or tequila. Maybe both if you have them.”

“Care for wine instead?” 

“Mhm, it’s more... adult... isn’t it? What do you have?” 

“Well.” About a month ago, a small team at the law firm won a big case, and Louis was one of the people who received a very _expensive_ bottle of Chardonnay. It’s been sitting in his mini bar untouched, the word _MONTRACHET_ catching his eye every time he walks by it. It’s a strange feeling to have these momentos of his victories without someone to share and celebrate them with. This is reason enough to pop it open, he thinks. “How about a 1984 Domaine Chardonnay?” 

Harry’s eyes widen just a smidge. “Where’d you snatch that from?”

Louis shrugs out of his coat and unbuttons his suit jacket. “You know that case I was telling you about? Ryan Stamos and his ex wife?” Harry nods. “We won.” 

That puts a genuine small on Harry’s face, albeit a very small one. “Congrats, Lou. I knew you could do it.” 

“Thanks, H. Do you mind grabbing the wine? I’ll go get freshen up.” 

Harry nods. He puts the yellow file on the coffee table and walks away without a word, knowing exactly where the alcohol is and where the glasses are. Louis goes to the bathroom. After rolling up the sleeves of his white button down to his elbows, he splashes his face with cold water. _This is happening._ This time it’s real. He never thought Harry would be _here_ when it happened, never thought they’d be together and that he’d have to deal with... whatever is about to unfold. He leaves his coat and jacket in his room and kicks off his shoes there, too, along with his socks. The floor is freezing cold, though, so he slips the socks on again and heads back out. 

There are two wine glasses on the coffee table — neither of them filled. 

“Hey,” Louis says, and Harry turns at the sound. “Go on, then. Fill them up.” 

Harry shakes his head. “You should do the honours. It’s your big win.” 

“Do it for me, c’mon. I’m all wrung out from today’s shenanigans.” He sits down on the love seat. There’s plenty of space between him and Harry. It’s respectable and considerate. And it requires a lot of restraint. 

Harry grabs the bottle. “I feel like I’m celebrating my failed marriage.” 

“It wasn’t a failed marriage,” Louis says almost instinctively to make Harry feel better, but it’s not true. It isn’t a lie, per se, but it’s not really true, either. “You didn’t fail at a marriage, you just...” He doesn’t know what he’s saying or if he should be saying anything, at all, but he can’t backtrack now. Should never have spoken. “You outgrew each other, I think,” he says slowly, “and that’s not necessarily indicative of failure. I think that’s just you being human. We’re made to change and adapt, and I think you’re adapting the best you can to a situation that changed in a way which you didn’t expect.” 

Harry offers him a glass. “To your wonderful, intellectual brain,” he toasts, “and to my unfortunate growth.” 

They both drink together in silence. Harry doesn’t say anything else, so Louis keeps his mouth shut, too. He wants to know what’s in the file. He thinks he knows already, but — there are details he wants to know, but he isn’t sure he’s privy to them. Apart from best friend, he doesn’t know what he is to Harry and he doesn’t know how their past or their hypothetical future plays into this moment. Last time he was here, Harry had a wedding ring on his left hand. Now both his hands are bare, save for one odd ring on the middle finger of his right hand that Louis hasn’t seen before — a hollowed out heart set in a golden band. Louis doesn't ask about it and Harry doesn’t explain. 

His hair is longer, Louis notices. It’s not a huge difference, but it’s there. Harry cut his hair short ages ago and has maintained that length ever since, but Louis knows that it’s definitely at least a few inches longer than it’s been in a long time; he can see the wispy curls poking out from underneath his beanie. 

“He did it.”

Louis blinks. “Sorry?” 

Harry clears his throat. “Ryan signed the papers. I didn’t even know he had them made already and then he gave them to me today. Signed and all.” 

And that should be... a good thing? Louis has been under the impression that this is what’s supposed to happen, but Harry sounds angry about it. He _looks_ angry, with his brows pulled together and fingers pulled at the corner of his mouth. 

“Is that not what you want?” Louis asks. 

“No.” He gulps down his wine. “Yes. It is. But not like that.” 

“Explain.” 

“Well, don’t you see? He was always... he was _okay_ with just us. He was fine with the idea of just me and him and nothing else. _I_ wanted more. But then it took him, what? Thirty seconds to sign the documents and end our relationship, at least from his side? That just... hurts.” 

“That’s what you wanted, Harry,” Louis reminds him. 

“Not like _this.”_

This is not a conversation Louis wants to have. He does not want to have to defend Ryan in this situation. He knows the man probably, most definitely got the shorter end of the stick, but still. There’s only so high Louis can go and his limit is Ryan. 

“You know he accused me of cheating on him?” The confusion must show on Louis’ face, because Harry continues. “Yeah. He asked me why I’ve been spending so much time with you. If you’re the reason I suddenly don’t want to be married to him anymore.” 

And that’s all it takes for Louis to lose his sympathy. “I have been nothing but — Fuck him.” _Fuck him._ This is still not a conversation Louis wants to have, but, honestly, fuck him. 

“Louis,” Harry says, and his voice is all different. Softer. 

Louis looks at him. 

Harry looks away. 

“Can I ask you a question, Lou? It might not be fair, but... can I?” 

“I won’t promise you an answer, but, yeah. Ask away.” 

There’s a long pause before Harry asks, very quietly, “Why did you let me marry him? Why didn’t you just... tell me not to? Why didn’t you do anything?” 

It’s not what Louis was expecting, but it’s also not the first time someone’s asked him this. His sisters have asked, his friends have asked. He’s asked himself that question many times. And the answer is always the same. 

Harry’s looking at him now. Louis presses a thumb to where he knows the compass is inked on his arm. 

“Because I love you, Harold.” And Louis hasn’t said that out loud in many, many years. Not like this. Not to Harry. “What you wanted then wasn’t me. I could’ve stopped the wedding easily, I know I could have. But I have a feeling you would have resented me for it later and I couldn’t have that. Life has a way of working out eventually, so I just trusted that it would work out for me.” 

“You were banking on my marriage not succeeding?” 

“No, I was just... taking my chances. I didn’t exactly stop living because you got married. I still, you know, went on dates and shit from time to time. But I couldn’t commit to anyone else. I just couldn’t.” 

“So you’ve been waiting for me this whole time?” 

“Again, no. I didn’t know any of this would happen. But I _have_ been willing this whole time.” 

“You know I can’t — like, immediately, I can’t —”

“I know, Haz. I know. I’m a patient man.”

Harry bites at his lip. “I still have to sign the papers. I forgot my pen.”

Louis smiles. “I have pens. Loads of them.” 

“Maybe I can write a breakup album for someone and have my big break.” He’s making a joke, but the effort is half hearted, as is the watery smile that follows. 

So Harry signs the papers. Then he cries and Louis holds his hand, lets him cry into his shirt until the tears run out and so does the wine. They don’t have to do anything right now. They have time. There’s all the time in the world. 

△▼△

Harry’s outside Louis’ house again. It’s still a red door. The only difference is, it’s now Harry’s house, too. His daughter is keying the lock in an attempt to get it open because she’s a big girl now — if big means, at full height, she reaches Harry’s knee. But she gets it unlocked eventually and skips instead with a happy, “Papa, I’m home!” 

Papa, in turn, is very uncharacteristically quiet and Harry wonders if Louis maybe fell asleep with their ten month old. He has his answer when he finds his spouse and son both on the sofa, Archer strapped securely to Louis’ chest in the baby harness. He typically detests the thing, but right now he’s got his eyes closed with a dopey smile on his face as Harry’s own voice plays softly from Louis’ phone near them. 

_Your flowers just died, plant new seeds in the melody_

“Papaaaa,” Amelia squeals as he runs towards Louis and then halts when she sees her little brother asleep, walking slowly until she reaches them and then gingerly touching Arhie’s cheek with a finger. 

_Sunflower... Sunflower, sunflower_

“Hi, little love,” Louis smile back at her and pats the space next to him. She hops on the sofa and cuddles into Louis’ side. “How was your day?” 

_I couldn't want you any more_

_Kiss in the kitchen like it's a dance floor_

Harry wrote the song about Louis maybe a year ago. It was meant for someone else, Harry had every intention of giving the song to some hotshot artist who could make it a hit everywhere, but when he played back his own demo for Louis... he couldn’t do it. It’s the simplest track with nothing but a guitar for melody, but the words spoke to them both and Harry just couldn’t bear to give it to anyone else. It’s their song, it’s their story. Harry didn’t want someone else telling it for him. So now it’s a lullaby for their kids because they’re part of the story. 

“Daddy, come here,” Amerlia says, eagerly gesturing with her hand for Harry to come closer. It sounds more like she says _ee-yah_ because she hasn’t mastered her _r’s_ yet. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He dutifully walks over to his daughter and sits next to her, pulling her into his lap so he can be close to Louis. “Hey, you.” He leans over to kiss Archie’s pink cheeks. 

“Hello, darling. Have a nice walk?” 

“Oh, we did. Didn’t we, Mealie?”

“We got ice cream! Mint and chocolate chip one,” Amelia tells Louis. 

“Oh my! And you didn’t bring one home for me?” 

“No, duh, it was gonna melt in all that time. We can go tomorrow with you and get one for you, too. And a teeny, tiny little bit for baby Archie.” _Archie_ becomes _Aa-chie._

“Sounds like a plan.” 

Louis chats away with Amelia, so Harry takes Archie out of the harness and into his arms instead. This is where he feels the most at home — surrounded by his boys, with his little girl in between them. This is what he has always wanted, since he was a kid himself. He tilts his head and presses a kiss to the underside of Louis’ jaw, who puts an arm around Harry’s shoulders and tugs him closer. 

This is home. This is where he was always meant to be. 

“I love you,” he tells Louis in between Amelia’s recount of her play date when Archie grips at one of his fingers. It’s the one with a wedding ring on it. 

“I know.” 

On the wall opposite them, Harry and Louis in their matching custom suits from four years ago smile at him. Or, well, past Louis smiles at him; past Harry is gazing adoringly at Louis like he always does. It was the best day of his life. 


End file.
